


La Vengeance Est Un Plat Qui Se Mange Froid (Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold)

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Sequel to Expendable; marked Teen for some violence to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: I know I left some of you hanging, if not all of you, with the way I ended Expendable. A few of you wanted to see d’Art get his revenge. Hopefully he’ll be able to do it now.I’m not planning on this to be an overly long story. Just to wrap things up with a ribbon, so to speak.I have been trying to stop doing multiple stories at the same time because it's taking up most of my life, aside from work. LOL!But I didn't want to leave you guys waiting that long.See notes at bottom.++++





	1. Chapter 1

_Garrison – Captain Treville’s office_

No sooner had Maheur and Groult taken their leave when a hard-knuckled rap upon the door had four very angry men entering the room.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Treville should have realized nothing would get past his best men. Keeping a sharp eye on the youngest member, he worried over d’Artagnan’s mind set.

“Captain,” stepping forward, Athos’ features could have been carved out of granite,” we want to go after Ronan and the rest of his band of voleurs.”

Studying the foursome, Treville understood their need for vengeance. But he felt they were too close to the situation and may act recklessly. He especially thought that d’Artagnan would be the loose cannon of the bunch, this time around. After all the lad had suffered most cruelly at that canaille’s hands, nearly dying from his wounds.

When the young Gascon had been at death’s door, all Treville could do was pray that the lad would live for them all. Silently observing d’Artagnan standing beside his mentor, full of his usual vitality, it was hard to imagine that the regiment had almost lost their brightest star.

“Gents,” standing up Treville walked around his desk to perch on the edge of it, “I trust if I send you on this assignment cooler heads will prevail and none of you will go off half-cocked?” Eyeing each man in turn, his gaze lingered on the last one. “D’Artagnan, do we have an accord?”

Nodding his head vigorously, d’Artagnan held his breath hoping that the captain believed him. “Oui, sir.”

“I’ll depend on the rest of you to keep our youngest in check. Just in case.” Words Treville deliberately left unsaid still came across to the inseparables loud and clear. He needed all of them to rein in their tempers on this one.

“We will have our horses readied while gathering our supplies together.” Glancing at the set faces of Porthos and Aramis, Athos’ blue eyes then fell on his protégé. More than worried over the pup, despite the Gascon’s promise to the captain, Athos realized he would have to keep a closer eye on d’Artagnan.

“Where was Ronan last seen, Captin’?” Arms crossed, impatience was set in every bone of Porthos’ large body.

Going over to a huge map, tacked upon the wall, Treville tapped a finger on several locations Maheur and Groult had shown him. “They’ve recently hit towns in Amiens, Rouen and Artois.” Leaning against the wall, his anger grew. “No doubt Ronan would be bold enough to work his way back to Paris to try his luck again.” His last words, dryly said, did not go over well with the men.

"Ifn' Ronan does he can stop lookin' for trouble," Porthos snarled. "I'm right 'ere!"

Clearing his throat, Treville paced up and down in front of the group. Stopping in front of his lieutenant first, he looked directly into Athos' eyes. "I expect all of you," his eyes shifted toward d'Artagnan then quickly latched back upon Athos again, "to come back home in one piece." Walking past Porthos and Aramis, Treville came to a halt in front of d'Artagnan next. Jabbing a finger in the air, he frowned. "I know you just gave me a promise, son, but things have a tendency to _happen_ around you that defy description at times." Placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder, Treville gave it a firm squeeze. "Just watch yourself for me because I couldn't bear being the one to inform Alexandre or Verrill that misfortune had followed you again."

"Or having to tell His Majesty as well," Aramis supplied softly. When all eyes turned on him with disapproval, he told himself next time to keep his thoughts to himself.

"All right, gents, dismissed." Watching his soldiers file out, Treville tried telling himself that everything would turn out all right. But twas a hard thing to do, when he felt closer to those four men than the rest of his regiment put together. Oh Treville knew that he wasn't supposed to favor any one soldier over another but his heart told him something entirely different.

Standing outside his balcony, Treville's gaze swept over the courtyard. Other Musketeers were going about their daily routines. Word would soon start to slowly spread around the Garrison about the inseparable's mission. Then he would have the dickens of a time keeping the regiment in line. For Treville knew a good portion of the other men wanted a piece of Ronan's bunch for what they had done to the young Gascon.

D'Artagnan was well liked amongst the regiment of battle hardened soldiers. So when the lad had been tortured almost to death by those voleurs, Treville knew there would be repercussions somewhere down the line from his other men. Tempers has been short. Arguments started out of nothing and escalated from there. Things had only gotten better after d'Artagnan had started to heal. Running a hand down the back of his neck, Treville ruefully thought it would just be his bad luck to have a mutiny on his hands later.

++++

_Garrison stable_

"Whelp, ya ready for this?" Concerned dark eyes rested on the kid's still pale features.

"Porthos," he would not roll his eyes, he would not roll his eyes, d'Artagnan repeated to himself, "how many times have you already asked me that since we've been in here?"

"Too many." Pushing his head in-between the two men, Aramis reached for a blanket laying over a wooden post. "It was even giving me a headache."

"Who asked ya in the first place?" snapped Porthos, trying to take a swipe at the marksman but missing.

"Look," mounting Zad, d'Artagnan's hands tightened on the reins, "I've dealt with the past and tis made me stronger." Noting the pinched look about his friend's faces, he sighed. No matter how old he became, d'Artagnan realized these three men would always concern themselves with his welfare. Truthfully, would he have wanted it any other way? Yet he never wanted to appear the weak link of the group. "If any of you want to trouble yourself over someone it should be over _Ronan_ and not myself." Leading his horse out of the stable, d'Artagnan threw over his shoulder, "Because when the time comes... _Ronan's mine_."

++++

Enroute to Artois, d'Artagnan glanced sideways at his silent mentor. "I meant to ask you before this but did you ever discover who left that keg of gunpowder outside?" A firm jerk of Athos' dark head confirmed that the older man had and it hadn't been a pleasant experience. Refusing to show even the smallest amount of amusement, d'Artagnan waited to hear the story.

"That young fool Labelle was responsible!" Spitting his words out, they almost left a foul taste in Athos' mouth. "On his way to put it in the armory he got distracted from all the fighting that had broken out, totally forgetting all about it."

"I assume Labelle's now regretting his lack of diligence." Remarking upon that, tongue-in-cheek, d'Artagnan knew full well that Athos' wrath had fallen good and hard on Labelle's head.

"A month of stable duty alternating with working alongside Serge." Remembering Labelle's reaction to his punishment, Athos' eyes lit up with satisfaction. "I do not know which was more amusing," slipped past his lips. "Labelle lamenting upon working in the stables and the stink of manure or his horror at working with Serge."

All the men began laughing at Athos' words, knowing what a task master the old crotchety cook could be. A former Musketeer himself, in his past glory days Serge was a force to be reckoned with or so Captain Treville had told them. Whether that was a tall tale or not, most of the Musketeers shuddered in fear when Serge raised a ladle in his hand to rap someone over the head for daring to say something nasty about whatever had been served for the day.

"I'm finding myself pitying poor Labelle." Murmuring his words quietly d'Artagnan noted Athos arched a familiar brow quite high.

"What was that, d'Artagnan?" Turning a quizzical eye on the lad Athos hid a smirk, knowing full well what his protégé had said.

"Mmmmm," d'Artagnan hummed. "Oh, that Labelle deserved your disciplinary action. Most appropriate."

"Uh mmmmm," Athos snorted indelicately at the pup's response.

Changing the conversation, Aramis urged Belle closer to Zad. "Artois was the last place Ronan was seen. Considering tis only a few days from Paris I wouldn't be surprised if our paths did cross."

"Your point being?" Understanding the silent question d'Artagnan was being asked, he patiently waited for his brother to explain himself.

Riding close to the young Gascon, Aramis' leather-clad thigh brushed against d'Artagnan's. "Wanted you to know that all of us have your back."

"I already knew that." Losing the battle not to roll his eyes, d'Artagnan did just that. Hearing Aramis' huff of annoyance though made him chuckle. "Just keep in mind my words of earlier concerning Ronan and we'll be good."

Placing a hand upon his heart, Aramis acted hurt. "I wouldn't dare step on your toes in that manner, you cheeky Gascon!" A quick look to his left showed Aramis that Athos wasn't happy over the pup's reminder. His older friend had steam literally coming out of his ears. Bien, when Mount Athos blew, Aramis wanted to be as far away as possible from the overflow.

"Athos." Gaining the other man's attention, Porthos glared fiercely. "Ya need ta let the kid do this 'imself."

"I do not want to see him get hurt again," Athos reluctantly admitted. "It was bad enough after Ronan's thugs got through with d'Artagnan." Glowering himself now, he spat, "You cannot tell me you have forgotten all ready, mon frere?"

"Of course not! But last time the whelp gave 'imself up for us," Porthos reminded him. "This time we'll be the ones ta 'ave the upper 'and take those voleurs by surprise."

"I pray tis so." Consumed with worry over their reunion with Ronan's bunch, Athos was on the alert for anything. That being the case, his ears perked up at the sounds of another rider approaching. Pulling Roger to an abrupt halt he pulled out his pistol as did his brothers.

All of them formed a single line on their mounts, weapons at the ready. When the blue cloaked uniform of a Musketeer came into view, they relaxed slightly.

"Fabien!" Shocked, d'Artagnan was the first to move his horse forward to meet the other man. "Is the captain calling us back?" That was the only reason he could think of for sending out another Musketeer after them.

"Non" Shaking his head, Fabien managed a tight smile. "I badgered Captain Treville about coming with all of you."

"Why would you do so?" Pushing his chapeau back from his forehead, Aramis was puzzled. The younger man would have been assigned his own unit by now. Why would Fabien want to tag along with them?"

"The captain hasn't officially assigned me to anyone yet. I thought tis what he wanted to see me about earlier." Knowing his words still didn't explain his presence with them, Fabien's expression was a sheepish one. "I simply wanted to help you go after this Ronan." Glancing back over at the youngest Musketeer, Fabien's face reflected his sadness. "I learned what had happened to d'Artagnan not too long ago." Shrugging he continued. "I want the Gascon to get justice."

"My thanks, Fabien." If they hadn't had enough in their close-knit unit already, d'Artagnan could see the other man easily fitting in with them.

"I think when you catch up to him, d'Artagnan, you should string Ronan up by his balls and hang him over a fire pit to roast. Then that voleur would know what hell feels like before he gets there." Noting the youth's open mouthed astonishment at his suggestion, Fabien's eyes gleamed maliciously. "One learns a thing or two in the Red Guards."

"Gotta mean streak in ya don't ya?" Porthos chuckled. "I like that."

"You have a sick and twisted mind, mon ami," Aramis mused out loud. "Do you want to be my friend?"

Mild laughter from d'Artagnan had the inseparables, and Fabien, joining in.

The visual, Fabien's words left in the inseparable's heads, would make their journey less stress filled. All they had to do was think of Ronan roasting over a fire.

Collecting his wits, Athos held up a hand. "Bonding moment tis over and done. Back to the business at hand."

"Yeah." Growling low, Porthos wanted to feel his hands around Ronan's throat just once before the whelp had his moment with the canaille. "Let's get goin' before we lose daylight."

All five Musketeers traveled several more miles when Athos, once more, held up his hand halting everyone's progress. Whispering low he said to them, "I thought I heard something just now."

"Probably my stomach growlin'." When Athos stabbed him with the man's pattoned glower once more, Porthos slowly shook his head. He just couldn't win with his older brother.

"Voices," Athos hissed back. "Tis what I heard." Dismounting he signaled the others to do the same. Quietly taking their horses off the path they had ridden on, over to a tree-lined area, he and his brothers tied them to some low branches. Then Athos waved everyone to follow him over to some shrubbery that would give them enough cover.

When all of them were settled behind the bushes, it was then that the unidentified voices could be heard more clearly.

"Couldn't be that easy." Muttering softly, Athos exchanged a surprised look with Aramis and Porthos seeing the same thoughts reflected in their own faces. Of d'Artagnan's expression Athos couldn't tell for the lad's face was turned away from him. But when his protégé did glance his way, Athos took in a deep breath. There was such a fire in the child's eyes that those brown orbs could burn one with just a look.

Having a bad feeling that none of them would be able to contain their young one when the time came, Athos sent up a silent prayer to God. The last time he had done so had been when d'Artagnan was critically injured by Ronan's gang. Asking for the young Gascon to come out of their inevitable confrontation unscathed in heart, mind and body, Athos wondered if the good Lord would listen.

++++

_Notes:_

_La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid_ – Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold. If this translation isn't quite correct blame Reverso Dictionary where I took it from.

 _Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold_ – Is an old, widely used phrase expressing the sentiment that revenge that is delayed, and executed well after the heat of anger has dissipated, is more satisfying than revenge taken as an immediate act of rage.

 _Quote: "Stop Looking for trouble. I'm right here!"_ \- from Aunty Acid

 _Quote: "You have a sick and twisted mind. Do you want to be my friend?"_ \- from Aunty Acid.

According to distance calculators, Artois is slightly over two days away from Paris, Amiens slightly over three days and Rouen three days.

 _Voleurs_ \- thieves


	2. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the wrap-up, folks. Hope you like it.
> 
> See notes at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Late afternoon - same day and place_

Still hidden from view, the Musketeers drew closer to the voices Athos at first heard.

"Ronan," d'Artagnan hissed. "I'll never forget the sound of his laughter as I laid injured."

"Can I ask why we're still hidin' behind these bushes like we're scared of that riff raff?" Angry didn't even begin to cover how Porthos' felt. He was a man of action not inaction. Waiting around, the way they were doing, was only fueling his anger all the more.

"I am trying to work out a plan that would not get any of us killed," Athos bit out through clenched teeth.

Brushing against his friend's shoulder, Aramis leaned in close. "How's that working out for you, eh?" If a single look could burn a person to cinders the one Athos aimed at Aramis surely would have done so.

"Since you and Porthos are in such a hurry to meet your makers," blue eyes blazing, Athos didn't dare glance at d'Artagnan who hadn't voiced his opinion yet, "far be it from me to prevent your demise." With a casual wave of one hand and a tilt of his head, Athos silently indicated for the other two men to lead the attack.

Dark eyes quickly slid away from the older man's only to encounter Porthos' sheepish expression. Aramis hadn't meant to step on Athos' last nerve the way he had. Usurping his brother's position and taking over the lead, along with Porthos, had been the furthest thing from Aramis' mind. "Clearly apologies are in order, Athos."

"I'm sorry for openin' my big mouth too." Before Athos' retort reached past his lips, it hit Porthos that d'Artagnan hadn't put in his own two cents. Glancing past Aramis' shoulder, he didn't see the whelp anywhere. "Merde! Where's the kid?"

"Better yet," looking around him Aramis didn't see their newest fifth either, "Fabien's gone as well."

"Sang de Dieu!" Glowering at his two brothers, Athos fumed. "While we were debating our method of attack, the pup made his own decision and took Fabien with him."

"Or Fabien thought it more prudent not to let our young Gascon go off on his own." Lips pressed tightly together, guilt filled Aramis.

"Apparently we now have to wait for the lad to make the first move or risk everything blowing up in our collective faces." Furious over this turn of events, Athos could only sit and wait to see what his protégé was going to do.

"What possessed the kid ta take matters inta 'is own 'ands?" A helpless feeling stole over Porthos. The same feeling he had when d'Artagnan had given himself up to Ronan in place of his brothers.

"Us." Whispering the damning word, Aramis closed his eyes in pain. Upon opening them back up, he noted Porthos staring at him strangely. "You and I, mon frere, bickering with Athos."

"Somethin' 'appens ta d'Art because of that Athos won't ever forgive us." He spoke low, but grimly, to Aramis not wanting Athos to hear him.

"Athos won't forgive himself, Porthos." Observing his older friend's tight-lipped expression, Aramis' guilt ate him up all the more. "Just as I won't be able to do if the worst were to take place."

"Yeah." Deep voice rumbling quietly, Porthos agreed. "I shoulda just kept my trap shut."

++++

_Ronan's camp_

Finally finished setting up their campsite Ronan stretched out on his bedroll, ready for a nap. Hands folded underneath his head, a smile played about his lips. They were so close to Paris, he could almost taste its delights. He wondered if the Musketeer captain would be surprised upon discovering that Ronan had come back to the area again.

His smile grew wider, thinking also about the four Musketeers Ronan had captured all those months ago. Especially the young one. Sometimes he caught himself, at odd moments, curious as to the fate of that Gascon. Did he live or did he die from his wounds? It didn't matter one way or the other really, just a passing thought whenever he was bored.

Closing his eyes, Ronan began to relax. When the cold tip of a blade teased his throat Ronan's eyes flew wide open, entire body stiffening. About to shout for help, the sword pressed against his flesh beginning to pierce the skin. Hot breath ghosted over his face, when a voice Ronan recognized instantly spoke out.

"Tis our time, Ronan." With his rapier still threatening to slit the voleur's throat, d'Artagnan waited while Fabien made sure Ronan didn't have weapons on his person. Setting himself apart from the rest of his men hadn't been a wise decision on the older man's part but it had made it that much easier for d'Artagnan to gain the upper hand.

++++

The view afforded them, from where they were behind the bushes, made it impossible to see what the pup was up to. So Aramis, being the lightest of the group, was left to climb up one of the trees to get a birds-eye view of the camp. Grumbling the entire time, because it was him and not their youngest that had to do this, Aramis found a thick limb that would hold his weight.

"Do you see anything?" Biting at the chomp, Athos just wanted to lead an attack into the camp and be done with it.

Nodding his head, Aramis realized Athos wouldn't be able to see that. Carefully he made his way back down, without incident. "Ronan separated himself from his men and tis on the other side of the camp. I spotted d'Artagnan too. The lad looked about ready to get his vengeance on the canaille."

"Fabien?" If the younger man stayed with d'Artagnan it would be a deficet to their numbers. Something Athos and his brothers would just have to deal with when the time came.

"Is with him." Whether Fabien would stay with their young one, Aramis didn't know. They certainly could use him in the coming fray.

"Then tis up to us to be the distraction the child needs." A quick look at his friends told Athos more than words that Porthos and Aramis were with him on this. "On my count we charge." His voice brooked no argument. Timing was of the utmost import, if d'Artagnan was to have any chance at vengeance against the batard. " _Un... deux... trois..._ " And on that last count they crashed through the bushes, brandishing their swords and shouting, startling the voleurs meandering around the campsite.

++++

Standing off to one side of d'Artagnan, Fabien studied the Gascon youth. Originally he had wanted to help the lad but upon noting the grim look of determination the younger man wore, and the jut to d'Artagnan's chin, Fabien didn't think he would be needed. Better to aid the others. "If you have things well in hand here," his eyes locked onto d'Artagnan's, "I believe I'll be of better use to your friends while you square off against this canaille."

"Merci, Fabien." Saluting him with his blade, d'Artagnan waited for his newest brother-in-arms to go to the aid of his friends. If he had heard correctly, by the sounds of the inseparable's shouts, they had already begun their attack on Ronan's band. Stepping back he let the voleur gain his feet. Picking up Ronan's sword from the ground, d'Artagnan threw it at the other man. Watching surprise register on the batard's face, as Ronan caught the blade in mid-air, d'Artagnan snickered to himself.

A sneer appeared on Ronan's face. "You amaze me, petit Musketeer?" Giving a mocking bow to the young Gascon, he chuckled. "So there is to be honest combat between us then?"

"More than you gave me at the time," d'Artagnan retorted sharply. "Men of the king's regiment have a code of honor that you would have no conception of ever understanding." Not wasting further breath on the voleur, he acted. "En garde!"

Looking at the sword in his hand and then back to the Gascon, Ronan nodded his head. Being older he assumed that he was the more experienced at swordplay than this young upstart. Confident in his own ability, Ronan knew who would be the victor of this battle. "As you say... En garde!"

The two men circled each other before their swords crossed. Adept at keeping his adversary at arm's length for a time, d'Artagnan toyed with Ronan as one would a petit mouse. Ah, but it wouldn't do to become too cocky as he spun away from a hit that could have turned serious if it had landed.

Driving his opponent back with the force of his blows, d'Artagnan was pleased to see the amused smile, gracing Ronan's stubbled face, slip. Whirling around, his sword upraised to parry another deadly strike from the older man, d'Artagnan stumbled slightly enough to unbalance him.

When the lad lost his footing, Ronan took the opportunity to press his advantage. But it was he that ended up parrying rapid thrusts against the Gascon's blade, when d'Artagnan kept pressing forward without let up. The boy's mistake hadn't become a fatal one, recovering too quickly for Ronan to go in for the kill.

To any observer their swordplay appeared to be naught but a dance, abeit a deadly one. Two adversaries advancing and retreating, only to repeat the same movements over and over again, until one of them gained the upper hand.

Beads of sweat dotted Ronan's forehead. He had badly underestimated the skill of this young Musketeer. D'Artagnan's motivation was obvious from the start, and rightly so, for the pain Ronan had previously caused the Gascon. Fighting opposite the youth, Ronan didn't understand why d'Artagnan didn't appear fatigued from their exertions. For his own arms were growing weary from the heavy blows Ronan parried against. Lunging at d'Artagnan again and again, his sword met steel instead of flesh.

His opponent was tiring, which was good for d'Artagnan and bad for Ronan. Attacking the canaille, with several forceful strikes, he then ended up dodging a series of blows when Ronan executed his own counter attack. It appeared that the other man wasn't nearly as worn out as d'Artagnan had begun to believe. Catching the tip of Ronan's blade with his own sword, d'Artagnan nearly sent the voleur's rapier flying. Since his execution didn't work he lunged forward again only to end up retreating three steps back, once more evading Ronan's counter attack.

Slightly turning his body at the shoulders allowed d'Artagnan to slip past another strike to his mid-section. Wanting to put an end to this farce, because it was obvious to him that Ronan's ability with the sword wasn't quite up to Musketeer standards, he lashed out with his blade. Raining blow after blow, his sword continually cut the canaille's flesh. There wasn't an inch of skin exposed that d'Artagnan had missed. Blood dripped down the sides of Ronan's face from a deep cut across the man's forehead. Multiple cuts to the rest of the voleur's features gave Ronan a grotesque look. A nasty slash to the canaille's throat mirrored a cut d'Artagnan had wielded to the batard's chest. Not to mention the shredded shirt which threatened to fall off the man at any moment. D'Artagnan was amazed Ronan was still on his feet, especially since several deep cuts he rendered to the other man's powerful thighs were bleeding profusely.

Finally d'Artagnan put in motion his last maneuver. Normally difficult to pull off, it had always come easily to him. Athos called it _passata sotto_. D'Artagnan called it a _win win_ for him." Circling around his exhausted adversary, he dropped below Ronan's blade to attack from beneath. Throwing his rear leg back behind him d'Artagnan extended his left hand down to catch himself, so that he was supported by his two feet and one hand, while thrusting his sword upward into the voleur's unprotected side.

Standing over the body, after Ronan collapsed, d'Artagnan kicked the canaille's blade out of the man's hand. "None of the wounds I dealt you are life threatening." Tilting his head slightly to the right, his lips curled upward. "Bien, perhaps the last few went in deeper than I wanted but Aramis will fix those up so that you arrive in Paris alive to stand trial."

"Why... why not... kill... me?" Breathing did not come easily to Ronan, dealing with multiple injuries, yet he was curious as to the workings of this Gascon's mind. Moaning in pain, he waited to hear the young man's words.

"Simple." With a booted foot resting upon a nearby rock, d'Artagnan grinned down at his helpless victim. "You didn't kill me that first time when you had the chance. Though it was a close enough thing." Noting Ronan was still puzzled over his response, d'Artagnan's next words brought a measure of understanding to the villain. "Today... today I have the satisfaction of knowing that King Louis will pass sentence over you." Sheathing his sword, he swiped an arm across his face where sweat still poured down. "Whether you hang or lose your head won't be of much import to me. But knowing you and your men won't be looting or killing innocents any longer is the only reward I ask for myself."

Breaking into the clearing, Fabien took in the scene. "I'll get the fire going." About to head off in another direction his progress came to a halt, when the young Gascon held up a hand and gave a negative shake of his head. Frowning his displeasure, on what that obviously meant, he sadly said, "No fire pit then?"

"Ronan, you should really count your blessings," d'Artagnan heartily laughed. "Fabien's recommendation to me was to hang you up by your balls and roast you over a fire." Noting the voleur's face blanche at his words, d'Artagnan laughed all the harder.

Nearly bumping into one another, in their haste to get to d'Artagnan, they skidded to a halt. The inseparables could see their pup had won the day with nary a mark upon the lad's own skin. Bien, there may be a slight bit of blood here or there but nothing to make a big fuss over.

"Aramis, would you be so kind as to patch up our prisoner's deeper wounds so he doesn't bleed to death before we return him to the Garrison?" Arching a brow d'Artagnan noted that Aramis looked about to argue the point. As too did Porthos and his mentor.

"After the heinous crimes Ronan committed against you, I cannot fathom leaving him alive!" If he had his way the voleur would be lying dead with Athos' main gauche within Ronan's black heart. That is if the man even had one.

Ignoring his mentor's words, d'Artagnan cast his eyes about until they settled upon Fabien. "Did any of Ronan's men live?"

Scratching his chin, Fabien eyed the inseparables first before answering the Gascon's question. "Two or three, depending if one of them doesn't succumb to the wound I gave him."

"Good, they can suffer the same punishment with their boss." Striding past everyone d'Artagnan went to retrieve Aramis' medical kit, since his friend didn't appear eager to do so himself.

Coming back d'Artagnan handed the kit off to his brother. Going over to Fabien he tugged on the other man's arm. "Why don't you and I ready those other prisoners for the long walk back to the Garrison."

"Not planning on letting them ride their own horses?" Walking side-by-side with the younger man, Fabien caught a glimpse of mischief in d'Artagnan's eyes.

"His Majesty would expect us to bring back the bodies of the others," d'Artagnan said. "Their own mounts will do for that. Ronan, of course, will have to ride as he's in no fit state to walk."

++++

After the two younger men left, Athos and Porthos stood over Ronan while Aramis worked on the injured man.

"Ya know we could..." Letting his words trail off at the shaking of Athos' dark head, Porthos held his tongue.

"One reason," Aramis growled while applying a clean cloth to Ronan's side, "tis all I need."

"Aramis!" Snapping out the marksman's name, Athos pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just... just hurry it up so we can get out of here."

"I'm finished." Standing up Aramis plucked his supplies from the ground. "Wish I could say he was."

Getting Ronan back on his feet Porthos and Athos took the voleur over to one of the horses. After a struggle getting the canaille into the saddle Porthos tied Ronan's wrists together with a thick piece of rope, fastening that to the saddle's pommel.

"Can't wait ta see the captin's face when we ride in." Mounting Roulette, Porthos then tied the reins of Ronan's mount to the pommel of his own saddle. This way the voleur would be by his side, the entire journey back to the city, with no chance of escape.

"I'm happy to just be seen." Tipping his chapeau low over his eyes, Aramis clicked his tongue to get Belle going.

"Wonder which ladybird 'e wants ta be seen by." Porthos' gruff laughter filled the air making his friends join in, including the marksman.

++++

_Nearly two days later, mid-afternoon - Garrison, Captain Treville's office_

Verrill and Alexandre were with Jean-Armand when the inseparables, d'Artagnan and another young man filed into the office.

"We were just reminiscing old times together, gents." Waving them further inside the room, Treville was quite sure the empty glasses and bottle of whiskey upon his desk could attest to his words. "Do I assume your mission was a successful one?"

"Ronan and three of his men are at the Chatelet." Eyeing the three empty glasses , Athos was reminded about his bottle of Anjou waiting for him back at his apartments. "The other voleurs are with Poupart at the morgue." Still angry with his protégé's choice in leaving Ronan amongst the living, Athos was in need of a good stiff drink. Perhaps wine would not do the trick. Somewhere at home, he was sure, there was a bottle of whiskey hidden away with Athos' name on it.

"I'm sure all of you are quite tired and hungry." Knowing something wasn't right with his men, Treville figured he'd eventually discover what it was. "Athos you can give me a full report later this eve."

As the soldiers were leaving Alexandre called out to his son. "Charles, could you stay for a moment?"

Bidding his brothers goodnight, d'Artagnan remained behind.

"Jean-Armand filled Verrill and myself in on this Ronan you went after." Looking the boy over, Alexandre thought his son appeared unharmed. "All went well for you then?"

"For myself, oui. But my friends felt I should have done away with the canaille when I had the chance."

Ah, so that's what it was. Treville should have realized that would go against the grain of his inseparables.

"Why didn't you, if you don't mind my asking?" Giving the lad a sharp once over, Verrill felt he could guess.

"The fact that Ronan left me alive the first time was one reason." If he knew the captain, d'Artagnan figured papa had been told the details of his initial run-in with the batard.

"And the other?" Drumming fingers on his desktop, Treville felt in need of another drink.

"I wanted the people Ronan stole from, along with others that lost loved ones to him and his men, to have the opportunity to see that _justice_ could be served to those that deserved it." Wondering how many times he would have to explain himself on this matter, d'Artagnan was beginning to lose his patience.

"I couldn't be prouder of you, Charles." Toasting his son with another glass of amber colored liquid, he was soon followed by Verrill and Jean-Armand.

Blushing, it was all d'Artagnan could do to simply stand there when all he wanted was to bolt for the door.

"We've embarrassed the lad enough," Verrill said. "We should let him be."

"I would like to clean up and get something to eat, if none of you mind." Rubbing an ache at the back of his neck, d'Artagnan twisted it to the left and right to work the kinks out of it.

"You're dismissed, lad." After the door closed behind the youth, Jean-Armand caught Alexandre watching him closely.

"Do you believe Charles did the correct thing by not taking this criminal's life?"

"If you want peace work for justice," Jean-Armand murmured low. "D'Artagnan strives for justice. Always has from the first moment he stepped foot into the Garrison." Finishing his drink, he fingered the empty glass. "Wanting our citizens to see that King Louis could and would punish wrong doers, only does the boy credit."

"In other words our friend here agrees with Charles." Slapping Jean-Armand's back Verrill filled all their glasses up again."

++++

_Early evening - Royal Palace, King Louis' chambers_

Having listened to Treville's account of Ronan's apprehension, King Louis didn't waste any time in passing judgment. "It will be announced on the morrow and I'll have word sent out to all the areas that Ronan and his men played havoc with. Twill give my subjects a chance to come to Paris if they want to see justice meted out."

"Then you'll set the execution for the following week, Sire?" His Majesty had already told him that Ronan and the three surviving members of the canaille's gang were to meet the hangman's noose.

"Oui." Acknowledging Treville's question with an abrupt wave of his hand, King Louis' thoughts were on another matter. "Tis to be hoped their deaths would send a message to others out there that believe they could get away trifling with my people." Feeling this was the right decision, King Louis slyly smiled at his old fox. "Seeing men struggling for breath with a rope around their neck, while suspended in the air, should be off-putting for anyone." Pouring himself a glass of wine King Louis drained it quickly. "Much better than beheading. Tis too quick a death that." Dark eyes filling with anger he threw his empty wine glass toward the fireplace, shattering it to pieces. "Besides, I want those men to suffer as my young champion suffered at their hands. Those others of Ronan's band that died didn't suffer nearly enough if you ask me."

Silently agreeing with the young monarch, Treville watched the king fill up two more glasses of wine. Accepting one, he waited for His Majesty to go first. Instead, much to Treville's surprise, King Louis raised his glass high waiting for him to do the same.

"To d'Artagnan." Clinking his glass against the captain's, King Louis' thoughts now lingered on the coming execution.

++++

_A week later, mid morning - outside the Chatelet_

The scaffold, that had been built to hold four men, was currently empty. That couldn't be said for the grounds around the Chatelet, full to bursting with people that arrived to see Ronan meet his end.

Standing on a balcony of a building, overlooking the proceedings without obstruction, King Louis stood with Treville by his side. At his insistence the inseparables, d'Artagnan and Fabien were invited to join him as well. They were all standing slightly behind his old fox. After all, they were the ones responsible for Ronan's capture and King Louis felt they should be present at the man's execution. Raising a hand in the air for silence, he waited for the crowd of spectators to quiet down. Looking toward the scaffold, King Louis shouted, "Any last words, Ronan?"

Waiting for the thick corded rope to be placed around his neck, Ronan snorted. "I lived my life the way I wanted without having to bow down to your wishes or beggar myself from your taxes!" he yelled back. "I have nothing to atone for!"

Gasps could be heard throughout the crowd at the voleur's words.

"Un diable to the very end." Blue eyes flicked toward the pup. Athos noted d'Artagnan's eyes were fixed firmly on Ronan's defiant figure. "He deserves everything he is getting, child."

"I know that." Speaking low so that His Majesty wouldn't hear him, d'Artagnan leaned in closer to his mentor. "I just want this done with." Only ever having admitted his distaste for witnessing executions to Athos, d'Artagnan prayed his stomach wouldn't let him down. Funny how the sight of blood didn't bother him, when he was fighting for his life, but a hanging or beheading could make him feel quite ill. That was the real reason for his dislike otherwise he knew it was the only form of punishment that men like Ronan deserved.

"D'Artagnan!" Ronan hollered. "You're a hard man to kill! Shame you worked for the wrong side!"

His attention taken away from Athos, d'Artagnan couldn't believe what he had just heard. The king certainly hadn't been pleased, as he listened to the young monarch swearing. Not letting the voleur's words go unanswered, d'Artagnan shouted back, "I've pledged my life to serve His Majesty and to helping others that cannot help themselves! I protect them from the likes of you! The only shamed one here is yourself, Ronan! God rest your soul!"

King Louis had heard enough. His young champion spoke eloquently and to the point. Raising his hand once more he then let it drop, signaling for the hangman to do his duty. After the ropes had been secured around the voleur's necks, he waited for the lever to be pulled. When the hangman had finished his job... four lifeless bodies dangled in the wind. Ah bien, it just meant more work for Poupart to do. Removing himself from the balcony, King Louis went back inside the building with Treville following behind.

"Tis over now, d'Artagnan." Squeezing the back of the boy's neck, Athos sighed. This had been a trial for all concerned. But none more so than the pup. "We have the next few days to ourselves. Why don't you spend the rest of your time with Verrill and your père? They are your famille after all."

Clasping Athos' right arm d'Artagnan held it firmly. "You, Porthos and Aramis are my _famille_ as well. Let's all spend it together."

"Very well put, petit frere," Aramis chirped, throwing his arm around the Gascon's shoulder.

"I know a place we can celebrate," Porthos offered, a wide grin spread across his dark features.

"I know a woman..." Never getting to finish his sentence because of Athos slapping him upside the back of his head, Aramis winked at d'Artagnan's bemused gaze.

"You know too many women, tis your problem, Aramis." Still there was a twinkle in Athos' eyes as he said this.

Happy, at peace with himself, and still listening to Porthos telling them where to take their celebration, d'Artagnan hooked his arm in-between his mentor's and Aramis as they walked out of the building.

++++

_Notes:_

_Sang de Dieu_ \- God's blood  
_Voleur_ \- thief  
_Batard_ \- bastard  
_Canaille_ \- Scoundrel  
_Un... deux... trois_ \- One...two...three  
_Un diable_ \- A devil

 _Famille_ \- Family

 _Quote: "If you want peace work for justice"_ \- Came from Pope Paul VI (26 September 1897 – 6 August 1978), reigned from 21 June 1963 to his death in 1978.


End file.
